Fairy Tale
by sxyflyrt15
Summary: Yet another DH story. Hermione is not who she thought she was. What happens when she is thrust into a new life with a new father? and when she's expected to find a husband to escape the family curse?
1. Default Chapter

"'Bye Mione," Ron hugged her. She looked tearfully at them, wishing that she could erase the year that they had just endured. Letting her eyes linger on Harry's for one last second, she turned to face her parents.

"Hello dear," her father said, cheerfully, "have a good term?" He took her trunk from her and began wheeling it out of the station.

"Um," Hermione started, something was wrong, she could sense it, "fine."

"That's nice dear," her mother smiled at her. The whole scene struck Hermione as strange. Her parents were always pleasant, polite people, but this was ridiculous. They seemed so unlike themselves. Forced smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. She couldn't put her finger on what was going on, and she knew it would drive her insane.

"Honey," her mom called her from downstairs, "are you finished getting changed? This engagement is very important, we can't be late."

"Coming Mum." She looked at herself in the mirror one more time. It was the most peculiar thing. When her mother handed her the gown she was to wear that night, Hermione was positive it would be at least a size too big, but when she zippered it, miraculously it seemed, the dress clung to her like a second skin.

'I wonder what is so important,' Hermione thought to herself, 'that they feel they have to drag me with them the night I got home.' She was growing weary of her parents already, and she'd only spent about 2 hours with them. Usually she enjoyed spending time with her parents, but things seemed different, somehow. They were distant, cold even. She'd never known her parents to be anything but themselves but since she'd been home, she hadn't seen a genuine expression or heard a meaningful word out of their mouths.

As she walked down the steps, her mother smiled at her, "Hermione, dear you look stunning". She did look good. The dress she was wearing was a shocking pink, quite unlike anything Hermione would usually wear. It was almost surprising that a mother would buy this for her child. It was fairly low cut, and the hem of the skirt stopped about midway down her thigh. Her eyes sparkled with silver eye shadow, and her cheeks shone with pink shimmer powder. She smiled with pink glossed lips, and tried once again to ask where they were going, but her parents simply exchanged a look and pretended she'd never asked. Hermione sighed, defeated, 'I guess I'll just have to wait 'til we get there.'

When the car stopped, it arrived at a large manor. There was a large golden sign at the gates, which opened as soon as the car arrived. Hermione squinted with all of her might, but she couldn't make out the words engraved. She was starting to grow impatient with her too calm parents, who had made little to no attempts at real conversation since they'd left the house nearly an hour before. Sure, they'd asked her about Harry, and Ron, school, and they'd made a fuss about her grades. But the only thing they had seemed to take any interest in was when she'd mentioned Draco Malfoy. It seemed very strange to her that they'd take to such a subject, considering how all they'd heard of him in the past was his habit of turning up at the worst of times, or his talent for making their daughter cry.

When they finally stopped the car and had made it to the doors, her parents finally seemed to awaken from their trance. Her mother, she noticed, did not look well. She had aged quite a bit over the year. In the light she could see the dark circles under her mother's eyes, and the deep wrinkles of worry on her forehead. Suddenly Hermione had this rush of sadness sweep over her, although she couldn't explain why. Her mother touched her hair gently, her fingers lingering on her semi tamed curls longer than usual.

"Honey," her father said, quietly, "this night will be very strange for you". He cleared his throat and looked to his wife.

"We couldn't tell you this at any other time," her mother looked at her, sadly, "Or else we would have. Believe me we didn't mean for it to happen like this, so quickly…" her voice trailed off.

"Right then, I guess we'd better just tell her and get on with it." Her father looked at her, "Hermione, you are not our daughter."

"Wha-"

The two of them simply kissed her head, took each other's hands, and walked off. In a blink of an eye they'd disappeared. Hermione looked around, confused. 'this has to be a dream,' she thought, wondering where they'd gone. She didn't have time to process what they'd said, as the large wooden door behind her opened up, and a man with a mass of frizzy brown hair and chestnut eyes stepped out, with open arms.

"Hermione, darling!" he smiled, "Give your dad a hug!!!!"

And Hermione did just what any girl would do in that situation. She stepped forward to appease the man's wishes, but instead of embracing him…

She fainted.


	2. I'm not dreaming?

When Hermione came to, she found herself in a large room, laying on a silver sofa. She blinked a few times, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight before she studied her surroundings. There were many portraits around the room, mostly of older men and women, all with curly hair and brown eyes. Hermione groaned. 'This dream is too weird,' she thought, 'and oddly elaborate,'

Just then her eyes landed on a large portrait above the fireplace. It was a portrait of a woman, she seemed to be in her late thirties. Her brown eyes were filled with warmth and her smile brightened her face. She was beautiful in a simple way, her hair cascading in waves down her back. Hermione was struck by this painting, although she couldn't figure out why. She got up off of the couch, still feeling a bit dizzy, and made her way to it. She reached out to touch the gold frame it was in. She felt drawn to the picture, tempted to touch it, to see if maybe it wasn't a painting at all, but a woman standing in the fireplace, smiling down at her.

She was so entranced that she didn't hear her "father" come into the room. He came carrying a goblet of water, assuming she was still out cold on the couch.

"Ah," he said softly, almost reverently, jerking her out of her state of awe, "I see you have-er-met your mother." He looked at Hermione carefully, as though unsure whether or not to continue speaking.

"Hm?" Hermione looked at him, unintelligently, "My mother?" she ran her fingers over the gold frame absentmindedly, wondering when this dream would end.

"Wonderful woman when she was alive," he bowed his head, "You look uncannily like her." He offered her his hand, "would you like to come with me to the dining room, dinner is ready. I know you might not quite be up to it right now, but the sooner we get all of this business out of the way, the sooner we can start getting to know each other." He smiled at her. She hesitated, before taking his hand, it was warm, quite a contrast to the icy feeling that had settled in on her since she got off the train. He was obviously a hardworking man, physical. His hands were rough and calloused, but to Hermione, this was a good thing. You could tell a lot about a man by his hands, in her opinion. A man with smooth hands meant a man with a smooth life, and to her, smooth sailing meant weakness. You needed to know some hardship, it could only make you stronger.

She felt a sort of affection toward the man, although they had barely spoken. It was odd, because although he was a total stranger, she felt connected to him. To this house. Everything around her seemed somehow familiar, even though she hadn't seen it before.

He steered her into a large dining room, with a small table set for two. Like the room with all of the portraits, there were a few candles, making it barely light enough to see across the room. When they reached the table, he pulled out her chair for her and made sure she was settled before he sat down himself. Her plate immediately filled with the most delicious food, and she stared at it in surprise. 'too bad this is a dream,' she thought, smiling to herself, 'it'd be nice to have this kind of luxury!'

"Ahem," the man sitting across from her cleared his throat, "Hermione, I know all of this must seem very strange to you," he smiled at her kindly, "But I am your father. You don't seem to be… um… acknowledging that any of this is happening." He waved a hand in front of her face, "Blink for me, just so I know you're still alive." Hermione couldn't help but smile at him when he said this.

"You know, this is all very nice, but I'd really like to wake up now," she said, pushing her chair out from the table, "It's a beautiful home, really it is, and I don't mean to be rude, but I'm sure-"

In that moment she stood up, knocking over the candle beside her plate. A puddle of hot wax landed on her arm, "OW!" she said, looking around for something cold to stop the burn, "that hurt like a mother!"

Her eyes got wide, and she stared at her hand. "But that hurt… how could that hurt, if this is all a dream?!" she sat down, quieting a bit. Realization hit her like a ton of bricks. "This isn't a dream."

She looked into the eyes of the man now standing in front of her. He looked on with concern. Hermione swallowed, took a deep breath, and allowed him to sit back down in his seat.

"Who are you," she asked him, "and more importantly, who am I?"

"You, Princess Hermione Rose Dolce, and I, Prince Antonio Dolce are the only living descendants to the throne of Italy's magical world." He got up, and began to pace the room. "Fortunately for you, Italy now has a government similar to that of England…" He trailed off, looking at her.

"Unfortunately for us, it also meant that when you were born you were at high risk of being taken by followers of Voldemort. So we gave you up, and covered up your birth to everyone. Only one man knew of your birth, my best friend, and he has kept many secrets for us over the years. You will meet him soon.

When we gave you up, we wanted no evidence of ever having a child, so we had someone else go through the adoption process for us. We wanted no one to ever be able to use means of magic to be able to get your whereabouts. It wasn't until your mother died a year ago that I began to look for you, to make sure you were okay. During the year, I got into contact with the Grangers, and here you are."

Hermione gaped at him. He continued, "You are nearly sixteen, aren't you?" she nodded, incapable of speaking, "this may seem very sudden, but by the time you turn sixteen, you must be engaged to be married, or else the family curse set upon us shall take its course. You don't know the consequences…" he broke off shuddering.

"In order for you to choose your husband, we will hold a ball. Not an ordinary ball, but a wizard masquerade. It is the only way you will find your soul mate. Your husband will propose on the spot, and there is no backing out. The masquerade is the most powerful means of betrothal. It binds you to the man you are meant to love…" He smiled fondly, remembering his own masquerade.

Hermione found her voice, "So, you decided to spring all of this on me at once. The whole, married thing couldn't have waited?"

"No matter what Hermione, you wouldn't be happy. If I told you tomorrow, you'd have a different complaint. I figure I get it all on the table now, let you have your shock, get yelled at later." She scowled at him, he was right, "that is if you're anything like your mother."

She yawned, "well, I think the yelling will have to begin when I'm fully rested." She stood up and a maid came in, and ushered her out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

When Hermione woke up the next morning in a strange bed, it finally hit her. And let's just say she was NOT a happy camper. To demonstrate this, she threw off her scarlet comforter, and made for the door. She entered the giant hallway, and had to restrain herself from not letting her anger get the best of her. The crystal candle holders on the walls were gorgeous, and the candles flickering in them were teasing her. Hermione shoved her hands in her pockets, and stopped looking around, because if she did, she knew that daddy dearest would not be happy to find his precious Italian crystal scattered about the floor. Thinking about her so called father made the anger inside of her diminish slightly. It seemed a little strange, but she liked the man, she just did not appreciate that he waited nearly sixteen years to tell her he was her father.

That thought brought her to the Grangers, and all of her anger returned in full force. 'Why didn't they tell me I was adopted?!' she thought angrily, mentally cursing the woman she'd called mother for so many years for constantly using the phrase 'flesh and blood' to justify her protective actions. 'why did she lie to me?' Hermione's eyes welled up with tears, and she let out a slight, aggravated sound, and rammed straight into a door.

"Ow," she said, rubbing her nose, "stupid door." She kicked it, not realizing that she wasn't wearing any shoes, and hurt her toe greatly on the large, mahogany door. Feeling even more angry and upset then she had before, she turned the silver handle and walked inside the room.

Immediately a sort of calm washed over her, as she entered the familiar room, and she was once again drawn to the picture above the fireplace. She felt sad, looking at the woman in the picture, knowing that she'd never know the woman who appeared to have given birth to her. It was all too much to process right now, having her whole self changed in a mere matter of hours.

"Hermione," she jumped backward upon hearing her birthfather's voice. It was startling, to say the least. As he walked her out of the room, she felt all of her anger wash back over her at once. And, being the female she is, she started immediately to cry.

"Hermione," he said again, this time his voice full of concern, concern that only a father could have for his daughter, "I know you must be very upset, confused, and angry with me right now, but…"

"Angry with you?" Hermione sounded surprised, "you saved me! It's those, those… those bloody MUGGLES who claimed to be my parents that I'm angry with. They told me I was their daughter. They told me I was their flesh and blood, handed me my birth certificate from a bloody MUGGLE hospital and told me the story about how my mom was in labor for 32 hours. And when I got my Hogwarts letter they acted so bloody surprised that a thing even exsisted! But they KNEW. They KNEW I was a witch, and they knew I was going to get a letter, and they LIED. THEY LIED TO ME." She was screaming, angry tears were streaming down her face, and she made no attempt to stop them, or wipe them off. Her pink pajama collar was getting drenched.

"My whole bloody life is a lie…" she trailed off, and not a sound could be heard in the house besides the tears running down her face.

Her father didn't say a word. He just did what any good father would do. He wrapped his daughter up in his arms, and let her cry until she couldn't cry anymore.

Sorry the chapters are so bloody short everyone. Thanks for reviewing, and my life is calming down so I should be having some time to sit down and get a few long chapters in soon. Love you! 3


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